The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1887-04-16
FoR THE UN1vERsALIsT.
WHAT BECAME OF HIM.
By LUCY BARNES HOLLY.
CONTINUED FROM LAST WEEK. !

CONTINUED FROM LAST WEEK.
Like a flash came the remembrance Of
his old omrades-absorbed in his owe
hopes how upgrateful he had been for
their love. There were Jim, Joe and Tom,
and msny others who had cared for him;
especially ice, whose life he had saved
and who, from that time forth, considered
nothing too great to express his deyo-
ton. He had thought III those days that
Joe was foolishly overgrateful bat now
his heart gave a great throb at the recol-
lection.
Had Joe forgotten him? He knew
better than that.
The life that held friends was not
empty, and as his mind dwelt in the past
with them he felt eager to go forth and
join them; he felt certain that they we're
still Ill the old mines in Shasta.
All, he could walk those many miles
just to behold them and clasp their
friendly hands again. So, one day, he
stole from the yards stealthily, like a
thief, for, if discovered, he would be cap
tured and severely dealt with. As with
light footballs hs glided along, he heard
the chickering's of some half idiotic H.
mates of the place, and hid himself in the
friendly shade Of tree until their voices
grew faint in the distance. and he felt
safe TO resume his fighr. His heart beat
wildly as he reached the highway. Yes,
thank God, he had escaped; now for
Shasta and the old friends. Excitement
lent him strength, but night found him
quite exhausted; and, if such was his
condition at the expiration of his first
days journey, what was it after he had
plodded many weary miles, sleeping
nights on the cold ground and subsisting
on the bitter crusts Of charity? At last,
when nearly overcome by these COM
bined discomforts, he most fortunately
met the Marchioness. az was ready TO
pray for death when I met her," he said;
al had given up all expectation of evsr
seeing my friends in Shasta again; and to
such depths had l sunk that l even
envied the miserable inmates OF the poor
house. with their meager food, their hard
beds and cruel treatment. "OhP' ne con-
tinued, "if I were only with my friends
in Shasta | shouid lack for nothing; but
I cannot walk there; it is impossible. II
my former strength were only restored
to me not many days would elapse before
1 would enter that old mining camp; and
there would be Joe and Jim and the
others crowding around me-" and in his
earnestness he bent forward until his
face nearly touched mine. Madam"
he said, fixing q serious gaze upon me,
"perhaps you think that miner has no
heart, but he is like the rough-burred
nut, with its sweet kernel, rough outside
but with as tender heart within as ever
beat in Ii human breast" l ventured to
suggest that, as it had been some eight
years since he had left his old friends,
that they might not be there now. He
looked as if he had been struck by some
dreadful sentence, but recovering in a
moment. Madam" he said, 81 know
that they are there-I feel it to be So"
could not add another word of dis.
couragement, but said lightly, I'VE viii
hope So"
The longings of the old gentleman very
soon reached the Marehioness. Poor
old man." she said, "tell him that when
he is sufficiently rested 1 will pay his ex-
peuses TO Shasta" and was made the
happy messenger Of what was glad
tidmgs to our old friend. He was deeply
touched; his eyes were full OF teare, and
his voice shook with emotion as he said,
"God bless herl God will never let such
good woman come to want; her crops
will never fail her; she viii prosper: she
viii have friends and plenty all her life
long" as he spoke, with uplifted hands
and eyes, it seemed like prophetic beue-
dietion. Would the Marchioness hence
forth be shielded as by a charm from the
ills common to heirs Of the flesh? For
the moment I almost believed it. So at
last our old gentleman set out for Shasta
on the cars that could not span the dis
lance as fast as his desires. GOD speed
him." We said, through mist Of tears;
aud we missed him from the morning
walk and missed the blessing that the be-
nign presence Of age seems to give. And
often, when the shadows OF evening fell,
as the Marchiouess, her niece and were
seated around the blazing hearth, We
wondered what hal become Of him. The
clock struck eleven Christmas Eve as
May, who had had a recep ton, babe her
last guest good night, and she looked as
sweet as only youth can look in ribbons
and soft muslin.